


Collateral Damage

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Makeup Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2019-11-24 20:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: You can't have a make-up shag if you avoid the one with whom you've been fighting.Book universe.





	Collateral Damage

**Author's Note:**

> **Book universe** , between reconciliation and Jude's wedding. FYI, Mark's way too classy to shag in the toilets. ;)

Fuck.

After a jump back into the ladies to momentarily get her bearings, she creeps forward again, peeking around the corner to squint through the low light of the nightclub. There, standing at the bar, live and in the flesh, is a man whom she would have never, ever expected to set foot in this place. He also is the last man in the world she wants to see right now, and he is undoubtedly looking for her.

_Fuck!_

As if sensing her eyes on him he turns and locks eyes to her own. Startled, she jumps back again, which she realises is the stupidest move ever, because he surely saw her flinch backwards like a scalded flea. She leans back up against the wall, the beat of the music thrumming through her skin, vibrating the spaghetti straps of her top and along the fabric of her miniskirt. She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, wishing for the old days when she could have pulled out a fag right there and smoked until she calmed down.

"Bridget."

His voice startles her and she jumps again, this time to see he's looming over her.

"Hi Mark," she says quietly, though still loud enough to be heard over the din.

He looks down at her with that penetrating stare he has and she can see in the faint light that the corner of his mouth is turned up in a grin. "What are you doing?"

"Just in the ladies," she responds.

"Ah," he says, shifting his weight onto his other foot. "I was getting the distinct impression you were avoiding me."

"Avoiding you?" she asks in a high-pitched voice. "I didn't even know you were here until maybe thirty seconds ago."

"I mean before tonight."

She doesn't want to look away, but she can't help herself. She does. She has to, because his eyes can penetrate clear into her soul and pluck the truth out. Instead of admitting to anything too incriminating, she only says, "Sorry."

"We just had a little fight, that's all." She feels his hand on her forearm, his touch zinging electricity through her heated skin.

"I know, but…" She trails off. His fingers trail up her arm.

"But what?"

She shrugs. "I thought I'd fucked up again and didn't want to see you only to get chucked."

He laughs low in his throat. "Don't be ridiculous." The backs of his fingers trace over her shoulder. "I don't want to chuck you."

It's a relief, though—"How did you even know where I was?"

"Your answerphone said so."

Right. For Shaz and Jude. She needed to get her email working again for better privacy for communications of that nature. "Why here? To see me, I mean."

"Because it's where you were," he said. His fingers tilt her chin so that she is forced to meet his gaze. "And I'm hoping to steal you away so we can make up properly."

"But what about the fight?"

"What about it?" he murmurs, leaning in.

"You don't remember what it was about?"

"Of course I remember," he says. "It's just not important."

Maybe he's right. Maybe it's not important. Certainly not as important as the way his eyes fixed upon hers, the hand cradling the back of her head, his lips coming nearer—

"Oh for fuck's sake, get a fucking room."

This passing voice snaps them to the present, causes her to flood with heat and turn her head away.

"Well, that was a bit harsh," he murmurs near her ear. "Wasn't as if we were even kissing yet or anything."

She chuckles. "Right." His hand's on her hip, then his mouth's on her skin, her cheek, then her mouth. In response she moans a little. He's not usually this forward in public. Must have had a drink; yes, she can taste the scotch. She doesn't like the taste of scotch normally; only when it's on his lips. Tonight she really likes it. She hasn't seen him in five days, and absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"I've missed you," he says. Something else is growing fonder too, she notices, as his hand comes around, traces down and cups her arse, pulling her close to him.

"Missed you too," she breathes.

"Maybe," he says into her ear, then pauses; "maybe we should get a fucking room."

She chuckles. He uses vulgarity so rarely that it's always funny, but then he kisses her again so quickly and so hard that not only does she stop laughing, but she realises he just might not wait for a room. This is substantiated by the feel of his hand under her skirt, on her arse, under the elastic leg of her pants.

Right here? Surely not _right here_ , with people traversing into and out of the toilets; this seems to occur to him as well and he lifts his head, retreats his hand. He looks around for a moment then quietly orders, "Come." He takes her hand, leads her to a shadowed spot just around the corner from the men's room doors, then takes her face in his hands and kisses her roughly, thoroughly, backing her up against the wall.

Those same hands drop down and take her breasts in hand, the hard points supersensitive to the pressure. She gasps throatily, pushing her hips into his. His hands move to her hips and grasp tightly as he leans into her, his kiss unrelenting and absolutely scorching. Then he's up under her skirt—is it possible he only has two hands?—and tearing off her panties with animalistic force until they're gone and my God, he means to do it right here.

Must have had several shots of scotch.

"Just the one," he mutters while nuzzling her neck as his hands return to her, one on her hip, the other under the skirt, on her inner thigh and—

She bites her lip to keep from moaning too loudly, not that it matters with the bass as loud as it is. She hears him chuckle. "Certainly don't mind keeping this end of things up," he says as his fingers work their magic, "but I would prefer your assistance in helping me to participate, er, more fully."

Right. The matter of his fly. She reaches down despite his ministrations and as best she can she works the zip down. With barely a push aside of fabric of his boxer shorts he's able to, as he phrased it, participate more fully, though she chuckles as she strokes him, hears him groan a little.

"What's funny," he says (not asks), his voice rough.

"You could've just asked me to get it out," she teases, tugging hard, making him groan again. "Not like I mind."

"Mm," he murmurs, "I bet you don't." His hand pushes hers aside, then is between her legs again doing other things she doesn't mind a bit. He pushes forward, grunting a little, holding her arse with one then two hands. Her shoulders are against the wall as he drives into her; one leg's hiked up and threaded around his; her arms are on his shoulders then snaked around his neck. Again and again he moves forward, taking her breath away with every thrust.

The music's pounding, the walls are shaking and the crowd's singing out on the dance floor. She's singing too, but not to any song being spun by the DJ, and from the glimpses in stray light, she thinks he is too. She's not even sure how loud they're being because she can't hear herself think. She's just enjoying this uninhibited romp of lust, this irrefutable show of love.

When he comes he's got his fingers pressed hard into her arse. He shudders and tilts his chin up, which she takes as invitation to place her lips on his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gasps for air. He keeps up his end of things, keeps going for her, adding his thumb into the mix, which sets her off. As she finds her release he claims her mouth again; she moans into him until it fades away into a contented sigh, his arms around her as he kisses her again and again and again.

"Missed you," he says once more close to her ear, as if she didn't already know. She smiles, rearing her head back to meet his dark eyes, at least as best she can given the light level. They're twinkling. God, she loves him.

Her foot drops back to the floor even though she's quite certain it can't yet support her weight. She feels him chuckling, so it's her turn to ask what's funny.

"I never would have thought I could do what we just did," he said, "but I have no regrets."

"Mm," she said, smiling. "I'm a terrible, terrible influence."

He kisses her. "Indeed." Then he kisses her again. With his hands smoothing her skirt down, he takes a step back from her and rights his trousers. He looks around himself, then bends to pick up something and tucks whatever it is into his pocket before standing upright again. "Shall we go home?"

Her ears are ringing; what had served as aural camouflage minutes ago is now threatening to give her a headache. She nods, taking his hand.

They go back to her flat; she has come to realise that they always seem to end up there because he prefers to be there, not because he prefers to keep her out of his castle. Stupid self-help books. Once inside he takes her in his arms and kisses her again, his hands running over her backside. "I'm sorry," he says.

"What?" she asks, panicked; this couldn't have been a prelude to a chucking, could it? "Why?"

"I think your panties are beyond repair."

She laughs, relief washing over her.

"They were in pieces," he adds. "I'm pretty sure I got them all."

"A shame," she says, tracing her nails over his sideburns. "They were amongst your favourites."

"Which?"

"The black ones with roses at the hips." She'd worn them to feel pretty. What girl doesn't indulge in that at times?

He makes a clucking sound. "Ah well. Collateral damage is to be expected." He narrows his eyes. "It's like you sensed you would see me, wearing those."

"It's like you knew I was wearing them," she teased in return.

"Darling, you could be wearing a sackcloth and I'd tear it from your body to have you."

Such a romantic. She kisses him again.

_The end._


End file.
